


Thief

by illfoandillfie



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Smut, but soft smut, nothing especially kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 07:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illfoandillfie/pseuds/illfoandillfie
Summary: Roger wants his shirt back





	Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was written between midnight an 2am on my birthday when it was sad lonely bitch hours so it’s self indulgent as heck. Just some soft fluff with a little soft smut at the end.

Roger’s walk-in wardrobe was your guilty pleasure. You loved exploring it. Could happily spend hours running your fingers over all the different fabrics in there. Most of the clothing that was hung up or folded neatly in the draws was stuff he used regularly – every day shirts, jeans, a section for stuff he’d take on tour – but towards the back of the wardrobe was a collection of his older stuff, split between a row of hangers and a number of boxes. That was the stuff you really loved rummaging through. He’d been collecting it for years. Most of it was stuff he kept for sentimental reasons, he’d worn it at such and such show or so and so and given it to him. Some of it was stuff he’d had for so long it felt wrong to get rid of it. A lot of it was still in good condition too, just out of style. A relic from his youth, bold and bright and totally him. That was the stuff you loved best and whenever the opportunity arose to go digging for treasure you took it.  

You took the treasure too, sometimes. One time, while Rog was away on tour, you’d been having a particularly rough day and hadn’t been able to contact him. Desperate to be wrapped up in his arms, you’d taken a large glass of wine and started going through his clothes. You’d found an old beaten up hoodie which you couldn’t believe he’d held on to. It must have held some significance for him because it was faded and frayed and nothing particularly special next to everything else in there. But it was warm and soft and still smelt faintly of Roger even though it must have been years since he’d worn it. You’d slipped it on over your head, breathing deeply, trying to control your emotions but had ended up crying yourself to sleep right there on the floor of the wardrobe. Since then you’d pulled it out whenever Rog was away for an extended amount of time. It was comforting and reminded you of one of his hugs and you loved it.

Another time you’d been throwing together a last minute costume for a party Freddie was hosting. Roger pulled you into the cupboard exclaiming he had something perfect to finish off your costume if he could only find it. In the second box he opened was a pair of rainbow suspenders which he handed to you with a giant grin on his face. They were just what you needed, though you did make fun of Rog a little for owning them in the first place. At the party a few people had commented on them, asking you if they were the same ones Rog had owned, and when you said yes, they told you stories, reminiscing about a time before you knew him. Freddie managed to find a few photos of Rog wearing the suspenders and told you how they’d called him Rainbow. It led to you being shown a bunch of photos of Rog as a young man and you’d laughed in disbelief at how long his hair was while he insisted it had been very fashionable. You loved hearing those stories from the people who knew him best and when you’d finally got home you put the suspenders back in the box carefully, feeling a little closer to the man you loved.  

Sometimes you felt a little like a magpie, stealing things from him. Big things like an old fur coat you’d worn around the house constantly one winter, or a gorgeous velvet jacket which you couldn’t stop running your hands over when you’d first found it. Small things like a pair of aviator sunglasses, one of what seemed to be a hundred different pairs of sunnies, which made you feel like a rockstar even though they were prescriptions and turned your vision wavy. Or the necklace you hadn’t taken off since its discovery, a simple silver band which, you knew from photos, Roger had worn tight like a choker, but you preferred a little looser. For Christmas last year Rog had surprised you with a delicate circle charm to add to it, the back engraved with both your initials.

Your interest in his old clothes was something that bemused Roger. On more than one occasion he’d found you on your knees digging through a box and had rolled his eyes at you. But whenever he saw you wearing one of your stolen items his eyes lit up and he’d give you a soft smile that made your knees weak. Sometimes he’d remark that he’d completely forgotten he still had said item and then proceed to tell you why he’d kept it. Sometimes you’d convince him to try whatever it was on himself. If it still fit enough that he could put it on he’d pretend he was on a catwalk as he strutted away from you before turning around and posing, and if it didn’t, he’d pull it on as best he could and ask you how he looked. Either way you’d both end up on the floor laughing, sometimes with Roger half stuck in a too small pair of jeans or jacket.  

Your most recent acquisition from your magpie habit was one of his newer shirts. It was blue with an orange check pattern and Roger hadn’t noticed you’d stolen it yet. Not that you’d stolen this in the same way you’d stolen everything else. This one was a complete accident. You’d gotten out of bed early one morning and felt around in the dark for the shirt Roger had so kindly discarded for you the night before. You’d slipped on the first shirt you found and made your way to the bathroom, not worrying about pants since the shirt fell down over your thighs. That should have been a clue that it wasn’t yours but it was much too early for your brain to be working. You didn’t notice it was Roger’s shirt until you were washing your hands and caught your reflection. Any trace of sleepiness left you as you examined your reflection, admiring the way the shirt fell around you. You spent a few minutes undoing and redoing buttons, comparing how much cleavage was shown off each way and wondering what it’d look like if you were wearing your favourite bra underneath. It felt so soft and light against your skin and it was warm even as you stood on cold tiles. You could understand why Rog wore it so often. When you got back to your room you pulled it off again, catching a whiff of Roger’s aftershave as you brought it over your head, before snuggling back into Roger’s arms, hoping to squeeze in round two before either of you had to be up for real. Since then you’d worn it whenever the chance arose, mostly just around the house when Roger was out. You knew he really liked the shirt and wore it fairly frequently so it wasn’t really one you could steal but you couldn’t help yourself, it just felt so nice to wear.  

This morning you’d woken to find Rog already gone. The band were deep in Live Aid rehearsals and today was their last before the big day so you weren’t expecting him home till much later. You got up and straight away switched your own shirt for his, your new favourite, rubbing your hand up and down the sleeve a couple of times just to feel the fabric. You you’d wear it until you had a shower and then you’d put your own clothes on. You headed to the kitchen to make coffee and find something to eat. You were examining the contents of the fridge when a voice in the hallway made you jump.   
“Hey, hon, you up?”   
“In the kitchen!” You called out over your shoulder, “How come you’re back so early?”   
“We did a couple of run throughs which went well enough that we decided to take the rest of the day off. Don’t wanna overwork ourselves,” his voice trailed off towards the end as he caught sight of you bent over as you looked in the fridge, “is that my shirt?” You looked down, the shirt having slipped your mind in favour of food.    
“Oh, yeah it is. Wanted something comfy and this was the first thing I found,” you shrugged, turning and shutting the fridge behind you.   
“How was a shirt that was hanging in my wardrobe the first thing you found? I was gonna wear that tomorrow.”   
“Busted,”   
You’re a little thief,” his tone was playful but it still sent a shiver down your spine.   
“Am not,” you pouted   
“Fur coat. Necklace. Hoodie,” he started counting on his fingers, “should I keep going?”   
“No, you’ve made your point, but I prefer the term pilferer.” You rocked back on your heels, “Can’t you wear something else tomorrow? This shirt is ridiculously comfy,”   
“I could, but I don’t want to.”   
“Well, I s’pose you can have it back. Gonna have to catch me first though,” And with that you took off, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Roger’s legs were longer than yours and he took the stairs three at a time, catching up to you fast. You squealed as he caught you around the waist, pulling you into him as he entered the bedroom backwards.   
“Gotcha. Now can I have my shirt back?” he said softly, his breath tickling your ear.   
“Only if you take it.”   
Roger turned you around to face him. He began to unbutton the shirt slowly, your skin breaking out in goose bumps whenever his fingers brushed against it.   
“As incredibly attractive as you look in it,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over your face as his finger continued their descent, “I really have to insist.”    
His touch was torturously light and slow, and his lips so close to yours, but you were frozen, completely unable to close the distance between you. All you could do was look into his eyes, occasionally shifting your focus to his lips, and try to remember how to breath properly.  

When he’d finally gotten all of the buttons undone, he traced his finger up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and up your neck until he was able to press his fingers to the underside of your chin and tilt your head up. He pressed his lips to yours, softly, and you melted into him. You opened your mouth willingly, inviting him to deepen the kiss. As he did so, he pushed his shirt off your shoulders and down your arms till it was a puddle on the floor. He kept kissing you, sighing into your mouth as he walked you backwards towards the bed, only breaking the kiss to push you onto it. You scooted back to be more comfortable and he followed until he was hovering over you. His fingers brushed over the necklace lightly, the cool metal contrasted against your warm skin. You looped your arm around his neck, pulling him back to your lips, as his hand ran down your side, coming to rest on your waist.  

Every brush of his fingers, every swipe of his tongue had your stomach tightening with anticipation and need, until you couldn’t bear it any longer.   
“Rog, please.” you breathed out against his lips.   
He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your jaw, then to your neck. He crawled down your body, leaving a trail over your chest and stomach, your skin burning with desire in his wake. When he reached your hips, he slowly peeled your underpants down your legs, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, making you whine. When he’d finally freed you of your underwear, he began removing his own clothes, much faster than he had yours. Without his hands on you, your skin felt bare and cold. You sighed as he crawled back over you, his touch restoring peace to your world, his lips finding their rightful place against yours. He slipped a finger into your wet core, followed by a second making your back arch into him.    
“Ready love?” He asked softly withdrawing his fingers from you.   
“Rog, y’know when I said please earlier? Yeah, I’ve been ready since then. Hurry up and fuck me already.”   
“Christ, I love you Y/N,” You could feel his body shaking with laughter as he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours.   
“I’ll love you a whole lot more when you let me cum,”   
“Whatever my little thief wants,” he replied, lining himself up and pushing into you. You would have rolled your eyes at him but you were distracted by how full you felt, squeezing his hand as he began slowly rocking his hips against you. He kept a steady rhythm, drawing soft ‘oh’s and gasps from you with every thrust. His voice was low and raspy as he told you how good you felt around him, how irresistible you looked wearing nothing but his old necklace, how much he loved you. You felt your orgasm approaching and could tell Roger was close from the way he was panting against you. You chanted Roger’s name like a prayer as you clenched around him, pulling him into his own release.  

Roger rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You pushed some hair, damp with sweat, out of his face and traced your finger down his nose.   
“What’re you doing?”   
“Admiring you,” you pushed the end of his nose like it was a button, “boop.”   
He stuck out his tongue, making you giggle.   
“I do love you Rog,”   
“I know.”   
You hummed happily, content to stay like this forever.   
“I’m going to have to buy you your own shirt, aren’t I?”   
“Only if you want to keep yours.”


End file.
